Marius Pontmercy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
saisamour) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2013-08-18 11:27 am
saisamour) wrote in thecapitol2013-08-18 11:27 am
Entry tags:
[CLOSED] insert hipster lyrics here
Who| Marius, R, Peeta, Shion
What| Suddenly everything / various Capitol logs
Where| Places!
When| Various dates after Arena 7
Warnings/Notes| Pontmercying
// SHION
Marius expects to wake up after his death in the Arena and feels utter disappointment when he does.
He lies in his bed for hours, staring blankly at the ceiling. The tears have long since dried, leaving him with a feeling of numbness. He should not be here, breathing. He is supposed to be in the sky, in the wind and in the flowers that his dear Cosette loves so much. His spirit should have been reunited with her.
Eventually he decides to exchange his bed for the gardens in the Tribute Center, the one that Eva had introduced him to in what seems to him like aeons ago. He manages to rise with some difficulty (it is wearisome, almost painful to force himself to move forward when all he wants is to exist in the dilapidated gardens he once knew as well as his Lark), and drags his feet outside the room, to the elevator, to the spot where the tiny garden is, its plants and trees he recognizes as coming from various parts of the world, still as thriving and blooming as he last remembers it, like nothing ever dies.
A white lily catches his eye and he stares at it blankly. He cannot remember the Arena. Oh, not completely, that is certain; there have been stretches of clarity in his memory, faces and voices of people he had met and assisted, and who have assisted him in return. But everything else is a chaotic patchwork of blood and candy-colors and sand and the blinding rays of the scorching sun.
But he does not want to remember. Let his mind be a blurry haze; it is better than to recall the moments of anguish and torture. So he wanders through the garden, fingers ghosting over flowers, him staring at nowhere in particular with a distant look in his eyes.
// PEETA
The message comes unexpectedly, delivered by Marius's escort, who informs him that the Peeta Mellark is reminding him of their earlier discussion regarding the composition of love letters. The escort seems fiercely determined that he must go, and so the meeting is planned accordingly even before his input is ever requested.
Now in all honesty, Marius does not have the faintest idea why his escort had been fretting over the fact that he was to meet with Peeta, but eventually, and after some insistence that he wear presentable clothes, he finds himself confusedly waiting for said acquaintance in the Commons. He is standing by some rounded tables to one side, politely declining any offer of drink from the Avoxes, and sweeps the room with searching eyes.
// R
Marius cannot remember how he managed to end up in the Commons—he had simply been walking aimlessly, thoughts often-times leaving him to wander on its own, and all of a sudden he is in a busy room full of Tributes and Avoxes and Capitol citizens.
His brows knot in mild confusion, and then he decides to leave before anyone approaches him. In his sudden rush to the exit he does not even notice R until he is a mere arm's length away.
He is only supposed to step around the man he has almost collided into in his haste. But then he makes the mistake of glimpsing his face, and when recognition dawns on him his eyes grow large and his breath hitches, and fragmented memories are suddenly ripped out from the depths of his mind that had kept them trapped: of sand curling up in waves, teeth ripping off the skin and muscle off his arms, and the biting cold of the desert night as his blood paints the sand red.
Marius freezes.
What| Suddenly everything / various Capitol logs
Where| Places!
When| Various dates after Arena 7
Warnings/Notes| Pontmercying
// SHION
Marius expects to wake up after his death in the Arena and feels utter disappointment when he does.
He lies in his bed for hours, staring blankly at the ceiling. The tears have long since dried, leaving him with a feeling of numbness. He should not be here, breathing. He is supposed to be in the sky, in the wind and in the flowers that his dear Cosette loves so much. His spirit should have been reunited with her.
Eventually he decides to exchange his bed for the gardens in the Tribute Center, the one that Eva had introduced him to in what seems to him like aeons ago. He manages to rise with some difficulty (it is wearisome, almost painful to force himself to move forward when all he wants is to exist in the dilapidated gardens he once knew as well as his Lark), and drags his feet outside the room, to the elevator, to the spot where the tiny garden is, its plants and trees he recognizes as coming from various parts of the world, still as thriving and blooming as he last remembers it, like nothing ever dies.
A white lily catches his eye and he stares at it blankly. He cannot remember the Arena. Oh, not completely, that is certain; there have been stretches of clarity in his memory, faces and voices of people he had met and assisted, and who have assisted him in return. But everything else is a chaotic patchwork of blood and candy-colors and sand and the blinding rays of the scorching sun.
But he does not want to remember. Let his mind be a blurry haze; it is better than to recall the moments of anguish and torture. So he wanders through the garden, fingers ghosting over flowers, him staring at nowhere in particular with a distant look in his eyes.
// PEETA
The message comes unexpectedly, delivered by Marius's escort, who informs him that the Peeta Mellark is reminding him of their earlier discussion regarding the composition of love letters. The escort seems fiercely determined that he must go, and so the meeting is planned accordingly even before his input is ever requested.
Now in all honesty, Marius does not have the faintest idea why his escort had been fretting over the fact that he was to meet with Peeta, but eventually, and after some insistence that he wear presentable clothes, he finds himself confusedly waiting for said acquaintance in the Commons. He is standing by some rounded tables to one side, politely declining any offer of drink from the Avoxes, and sweeps the room with searching eyes.
// R
Marius cannot remember how he managed to end up in the Commons—he had simply been walking aimlessly, thoughts often-times leaving him to wander on its own, and all of a sudden he is in a busy room full of Tributes and Avoxes and Capitol citizens.
His brows knot in mild confusion, and then he decides to leave before anyone approaches him. In his sudden rush to the exit he does not even notice R until he is a mere arm's length away.
He is only supposed to step around the man he has almost collided into in his haste. But then he makes the mistake of glimpsing his face, and when recognition dawns on him his eyes grow large and his breath hitches, and fragmented memories are suddenly ripped out from the depths of his mind that had kept them trapped: of sand curling up in waves, teeth ripping off the skin and muscle off his arms, and the biting cold of the desert night as his blood paints the sand red.
Marius freezes.
no subject
So his stance relaxes a little more. He blinks at the question, however, and a hand raises unconsciously to rest on his neck. "Sometimes."
But his dreams are mostly nightmares, now. Smoke and the smell of gunpowder at the barricades intermingled with poisoned needles pricking at his skin; screams of pain from the other tributes with his own punctuating them ringing in his ears; shallow, muddy water and the putrid smell of decaying flesh followed by blood and the skin tearing off his arm and rotting teeth at his pulse—
He snaps out of his momentary stupor to find himself trembling slightly, eyes wide, cold sweat forming on his hands and hairline and the back of his neck. And suddenly it seems as if all progress to brave his fears, to speak to and understand the one who killed him, have disappeared like thin smoke, and R is again nothing but a monster.
He takes a shaky step back, his voice equally unsteady when he speaks. "If... If you do not mind, monsieur. I must take my leave."
no subject
"Sorry," R manages weakly. It's always too little too late. It strikes him how stupid it is to apologize to someone for killing them. Moaning "I'm sorry" like a broken record. "O...kay."
He finally gets the hint to start backing off himself, R's head hunching to his chest as he drags one foot backward and then the other. He means to make himself look smaller and less threatening but all he does it look closer and closer to that thing that grabbed Marius out there. It doesn't help the clothes he has on today are the same dark beiges and browns of the outfit he had in that desert.
That look on Marius's face is all too familiar. It's actually the sane response, the same one that fears dark corners and jumps at the sound of scratching without a source.
no subject
He takes another step back. "I'm sorry." But it sounds flat; it's a reflex more than a sincere apology, along with the curt bow that accompanies it. He keeps his eyes on the ground even as he makes a move to turn around, in the same direction he had originated from.
"U-Until then, monsieur." And without a glance back, he carries himself with hasty steps away from R, not really giving attention to where he is heading. As long as it's away from the strange, undead abomination, (the one that makes him question whether it is justifiable that he retract in disgust, or if he is wrong in his unbending definition of what is right) he finds that it does not matter.